


You Ought To Know

by tkp (lettered)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-30
Updated: 2008-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettered/pseuds/tkp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected (and expensive) gift from The Bat to Gordon.  More porn with very little excuse for plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Ought To Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetphaex](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sweetphaex).



After the Batman took the fall for Harvey Dent, the official GCPD position on Batman was not only arrest on sight, but actively seek to apprehend. For a few weeks after the D.A.'s funeral, there were still Batman sightings; on scenes of crimes cops sacrificed critical arrests in favor of pursuing the Bat. The force jumped and eagerly shot at shadows. Commissioner Gordon had a special task force put together to hunt the Batman down.

And Batman still didn't trust him.

They met at a defunct police safe house once a week. It had taken Gordon months just to eke out that much. With Batman on the wrong side of the GCPD, he was far more circumspect about working with Gordon now. Never let Gordon in on what he was planning, not any more, because they couldn't work together now. Gordon wanted to put together a team in on the secret, so that Batman could show at the critical scenes from time to time without getting shot at by the people he was trying to protect. But had Gordon done so, Batman would have walked.

"I know my officers," Gordon had told the Bat one day in protest. "I can make it work."

"Like Ramirez and Wuertz worked?"

It was the first time Batman's affected rasp ever sounded harsh to Gordon. He wanted to tell Batman that was different. That had been a mistake; he'd had no way of knowing . . . That was the point, though, and he had known after all. Harvey Dent had known about Ramirez from internal affairs; Dent had told him.

"Not the officers, then; have it your way," Gordon said another time. "Just me. Tell me where you got the spores." Some exotic plant, showing up in envelopes, making city officials sick. Batman apparently knew the source, but wasn't spilling.

"This information can't fall into the wrong hands," was all Batman said.

"What?" Gordon waved a furious hand. "You think I'll let it?"

"No. I know you play it close to the chest."

This wasn't, however, the first time Gordon had heard Batman bring up how he hadn't been let in on Gordon playing dead. "I had to," Gordon said, and it was just like talking to his ex-wife. "I couldn't tell anyone. My family—"

"You did the right thing," Batman said, and it sounded very wrong. "You did what was best."

_For you_, lie unspoken between them, because Batman obviously didn't think it best.

Gordon had lied, then. As Batman always lied.

"I'm not an idealist," Gordon had yelled at Batman once, when he'd wanted to wait before taking down the Joker. "I'm doing the best I can with what I have."

What he had just wasn't enough.

* * *

Gordon had been sleeping with Bruce Wayne one month. It had felt strange, being with someone else, but it had happened so gradually, like a sagging string, strung between two things, just sagging further until finally falling to curl and settle in the middle, something rested and right.

Sometimes Gordon still didn't know how it had happened. It had been about a month after Barbara left; Gordon and Bruce had met accidentally at City Hall, then accidentally in a coffee shop near the MCU, and on from there. Something like that. They'd become friends. Then something more—some months later, somewhere after Thanksgiving, before December—and the thought of making it through another gray winter, another gray year after this, was no longer so bleak.

Bruce gave Gordon an HDTV for Christmas.

"I don't need a new TV," Gordon told him.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Bruce said, voice ironic. "I got you this Planet Earth thing. You like nature programs."

"No," Gordon said. "I don't. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'll hook it up for you," Bruce said.

Bruce was always hooking up with some model or another in the tabloids. He could have stopped being quite so profligate and public. He could have let Gordon make that stupid task force to work with Batman. He could have given Gordon the truth for once, or at least given him some credit for figuring it out. Bruce Wayne could have given Gordon any number of those things, but he didn't.

He gave Gordon this thing instead, this huge thing he plugged up in Gordon's bedroom. Gordon could see his face reflected in it, too often. He never turned it on. When Bruce was there, Bruce's face would be reflected on it instead. Bruce always watched something else.

"Last night I was at this party," Bruce would say, when last night Batman and Gordon had finally caught up with Poison Ivy for once. "There was this hot piece of ass. She was nerdy, but the kind that'd be a real firecracker in bed. She had this fuckable mouth, lips to die for, know what I mean?"

"Not really," Gordon would say.

"You ought to get out more. Girl like that, you could fuck her over nice and hard. I wouldn't mind; it'd ease you up some. You know how I like them easy."

"No. I don't."

"Well," Bruce began, coming toward him, smirking. "I like them to open their legs up, all the way. I like to look at their ass—nice, firm cheeks back there and I like to open those up too. I like to eat them out, push my tongue in that tight, greedy little hole, licking those delicate little muscles, stretching them open and fucking that ass with my tongue until it's nice and slick and easy, so easy, Jim, nice and easy for my big fucking cock—"

Bruce was talking in Gordon's ear, a warm whisper, so close but only his breath between their bodies touching. Gordon ground his teeth and pulled away. "I'd have to catch her, first," he said, because Pam Isley had slipped through their fingers.

There was one more moment of Bruce breathing on him, a strained, heavy breath, and then Bruce pulled away. His face was blank, as if nothing had happened. "Oh sure, you could have got this one. You'd just need to try more."

"Maybe you could help me," Gordon said pointedly.

"What?" Bruce laughed. It sounded mocking. "You want to double team her? I don't know, Jim, it was a pretty crazy party, but not that crazy." Bruce paused. "She might've liked it, though. You never know with those types; she had these pointy glasses. She's probably got this inner slut, wants to fuck every man half way from Sunday."

"Why don't you find out at your next party," Gordon suggested, not a question.

Bruce smirked, eyes all hard. "I'll sure try."

Later Gordon told Bruce he'd watched the nature documentary program.

Bruce was delighted. "Did you see that part about animals that use sonar hunting? Pretty cool, huh?"

"I liked the part about the African dogs."

"I don't like dogs."

"Because they're so loyal?" Gordon asked acidly.

Bruce frowned. "I got mauled by this dog once. A big dog."

"Lots of dogs, by the look of your back," Gordon said under his breath.

"They're not loyal, is the thing," Bruce rejoined. "Not if they're starving. Or rabid. Or, you know, crazy." Bruce was scowling. "You ever see a dog go after its tail? What the hell is it _thinking_? They're slobbery and destructive and—they're pointless, is what they are."

"I liked the African dogs because they hunt in packs," Gordon said. "I guess all wild dogs do. I liked these; they were massively coordinated group efforts."

Bruce snorted. "You would. You're the commissioner."

"It's the most effective. They have a pincer attack. It requires communication, knowing what the other parties are doing. That way, they take down prey all at once. Together," he added, just in case Bruce hadn't gotten it, because Bruce still pretended he didn't know Gordon knew.

Bruce shrugged it off. "I like an animal that can fend for itself."

"You would," Gordon echoed.

* * *

Gordon got home quite late, on a night when things had gone so badly with Batman, Gordon half expected Bruce Wayne to be waiting in his apartment to fuck him through the floor. Instead, the apartment felt dark and alone. Gordon flicked on the lights, and saw that Bruce wasn't there, but had been.

On the coffee table were several piles. There were four stacks of DVDs, each labeled with a date in scritched handwriting. Another pile was miniature cameras, obviously removed from previous fixtures.

The DVDs were the second thing Gordon watched on his new TV. He thought that Bruce had finally given him an inch, that this was information they needed to take down Isley. He thought that Batman trusted him, and sat down to watch the TV feeling something like consolation.

The first DVD was of the main room in Gordon's apartment, empty. Twelve hours of Gordon's empty apartment, and then Gordon coming through the door, taking off his coat, hanging it up. Going off-screen to the kitchen, returning with a sandwich and bowl of soup. Eating while reading the newspaper, setting the newspaper down after, going to work on some case files. Eventually standing and disappearing off screen to the bedroom. Five hours of nothing, then Gordon coming in again, t-shirt and boxers of the next morning. So it went on.

There was a stack of DVDs for the cameras which had once been in Gordon's bedroom, one for his study, one for his kitchen. Six months of surveillance, since Gordon had moved into the apartment, documented and recorded. Gordon sleeping, Gordon eating, Gordon getting fucked by Bruce, frowning over file folders, talking to Bruce, smoking, sucking Bruce off, smoking, cleaning, drinking too much booze, getting dressed, stretching, saying yes to Bruce, "oh God, yes; give it to me." There was, of course, sound. The mikes that had been in each of Gordon's rooms were another pile on the table.

Back at the safe house, earlier that evening, Gordon had found himself chewing out Batman. "It wasn't my idea," Gordon had said. "This whole lie. You taking the blame. I never wanted it."

"You wanted to save Dent."

Gordon had said he needed to save Dent. _I need to save you,_ Gordon wanted to say now, but he knew it wasn't true. He just needed him. "I don't want this," Gordon said instead. "I'm working against myself, here, working against my officers, covering up the investigations."

"It's your choice, Gordon," was all Batman said.

"I'm trying to work with you," Gordon persisted. "You're outside the system, outside the law. I should be arresting you, but I'm trying to make this work. I see why we need it and I'm trying to make this possible."

Batman shifted in the shadows. "Isley's milking it. She knows I can't come into the open."

"I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to give you what you need," Gordon said. _I'm trying to give you everything._

"I'm going to take another look at her lab," Batman said. "Have your department cleared out of there some time next week. Late Tuesday would be good."

"Goddammit, give me _something_," Gordon said, but Batman was gone.

Batman had given him something: a half a million dollars worth of surveillance equipment that had been strung up without his knowledge around his own apartment, now disabled and displayed on Gordon's coffee table.

Gordon put his head in his hands and wished himself a merry fucking Christmas.

* * *

Gordon was still going through the DVDs the next time Bruce knocked on the door. Gordon didn't know why he was bothering. There was nothing in the surveillance he hadn't known Batman knew. Maybe he was trying to see what Bruce saw in keeping these tabs on him.

Gordon opened the door and went straight back to the bedroom. Bruce followed. "See," Bruce was saying. "Knew you would like the TV. What're you watching?"

Gordon went back to working on the files he'd been dealing with before Bruce knocked.

"Someone taped you in your bedroom," Bruce said after a moment of watching the screen. "Jim. What is this?"

"A gift," Gordon said, and opened another file.

"Weird."

"Isn't it?"

"Is it some Commissioner thing?" Bruce asked.

"Something like that." Gordon made a little mark in the file.

"Depending on how much of this there is," Bruce pointed out, "whoever's seen it knows we're fucking."

"I wouldn't worry."

"Okay." Bruce's voice was light. "Alright, Jim. I won't." A pause. "I trust you."

Gordon refused to look up, kept working. They were silent, Bruce watching the surveillance, pretending he'd never seen it all before.

"Jesus," Bruce expelled in a low breath, after an half an hour or so of this had gone on.

When Gordon glanced up over his glasses, onscreen-Bruce was clawing at screen-Gordon's tie, their mouths twisting to mash together above Bruce's frantic hands.

Gordon looked back down and was fairly certain, as if he hadn't been before, that this was why Bruce had gotten him the TV.

On the other side of the room, Bruce stood up, found the remote, turned up the volume. Came over to where Gordon was sitting and tugged on the file in his hands. It all seemed one swift, fluid movement, him crossing the room, emptying Gordon's hands, filling the room with sounds of erstwhile moans, wanting and wanton desire.

"Bruce," Gordon said.

"I want you to watch yourself," Bruce said, moving behind where Gordon sat on the bed. "Watch yourself get fucked."

"Ah." It was Gordon's turn to be light. He didn't protest the files being taken away, but didn't respond to Bruce's broad hand unfastening his pants, either. "So you've found some use for it." He gestured vaguely at the TV. Or the surveillance. Both.

"I've decided I like it, whatever it is. Fuck, look at you go." The Gordon on-screen was sinking to his knees, swallowing down Bruce's cock.

Here and now, Bruce's hand was pushing down into Gordon's pants. Bruce licked his palm, now was holding Gordon nice and tight, pinky curled and pushing against Gordon's balls, just like Gordon always liked. Bruce asked, "Did I ever tell you what a good cocksucker you are?"

"Maybe once or twice," Gordon told him sarcastically.

"You're a fucking fantastic cocksucker, Jim." Bruce's hand was wiggling, pressure on Gordon's cock but not enough friction, and Gordon's hips lifted automatically. Bruce took his hand away, found the oil. Was pushing a finger inside Gordon's hole before Gordon quite knew what he was going to do.

"Dammit," Gordon grunted, and lifted his hips again.

"Yeah," Bruce said, voice over Gordon's shoulder; he was still watching the screen. "The way you swallow me down when I give it to you. You love me giving it to you; you like me fucking your mouth, fucking my balls right up against your chin, don't you, Jim. You practically ask for it, the way you take my cock so deep. Look at you."

Gordon was looking, at the greedy way the one-month-younger, didn't-know-Bruce-was-Batman James Gordon, slurping at Bruce Wayne, sucking him down, kissing his cock, making love to him with his mouth. The sounds he was making, hungry and obscene, and very tender, somehow. The way past-Bruce was cupping Gordon's face with those rough hands Gordon knew now so well, the way it looked tender, too. Trusting.

Bruce had two fingers inside Gordon as they watched the two of them on the TV, two greasy, lazy fingers, pressing in, pushing in, working from the inside on that tight ring of muscle, then luxuriously pulling out to begin again. Bruce got more oil until there was too much, until Gordon was wet with it, and Bruce just stroked the outside of his hole with it, languid easy circles. He'd spread Gordon's legs further and ease back in again, another finger, and they still watched Gordon's mouth getting fucked on TV.

"Look at you, Jim," Bruce said. "God, such a cocksucker. You fucking love your throat being filled with hard, thick cock. On your knees, sucking it. God, yeah, suck it. Look at you suck it. Fucking _listen_ to you suck it, Jim, moaning for it, you want it so bad. Shit, I love to give it to you."

The fingers at Gordon's ass pushed in suddenly and harsher, twisting inside, but Gordon was so wet and stretched, it didn't hurt like it should.

"Gonna give it to you." Bruce pulled his hand out and shifted their bodies. "Gonna give it to you nice and hard. On your knees, from behind, while you watch that fucking screen. Watch yourself get fucked, Jim."

Gordon got on all fours. Bruce mounted him from behind; Gordon tried not to think about the conversation about dogs and watched the screen, watched how he'd stopped sucking Bruce while Bruce was still hard. He'd pushed Bruce back and Bruce had obeyed, completely naked by then. Completely bare, Gordon had thought at the time, but of course it hadn't been true, even though Bruce's face had looked so open as Gordon had climbed onto him, sank onto his cock, ridden him there in his single bed.

"Gonna give you a good fuck," Bruce was saying. He pushed into him hard enough that Gordon had to relieve a hand of weight to push up his glasses, so he could see himself on-screen. "A nice thick fuck, got my cock nice and tight inside you, got your nice little hole all wet for me, gonna fuck it so hard for you, it's gonna be so good. I'm gonna give it to you so good. Say you want it, Jim. Tell me you want me to give it to you."

"Shit," Gordon said, looking at the expression on past-Bruce's face on screen, the honesty he thought had been there, the way the jaw hung, so accepting, full of awe, as Gordon rode him harder and harder. "Shit, yeah," Gordon said.

The Bruce and Gordon on-screen were talking as well. "Jesus," past-Bruce was saying. "Look at you take it. Just fucking look at you take it." And present-Gordon was watching past-Bruce's dick disappear inside him, again and again and again, even as behind him present-Bruce pounded into him, hard and messy and slippery, pulling Gordon's legs wider and wider until he was holding up more of Gordon's weight than Gordon was.

"Yeah, you just take that cock," past-Bruce was saying. "You just keep taking it, just like a slut, like cock inside you, all the way up inside you, like it up the ass, you like to take it, like to get fucked, you just love to take it, don't you," he went on and on.

Present-Gordon was looking at his own expression on the screen, too, because it was just as open and honest, just as accepting. Because everything Bruce was saying was true; he'd wanted it. He'd wanted it so much. It was such a release, of everything, of grief, of loss, of stress, and he'd just wanted to have Bruce inside him until he couldn't think any more, didn't need to feel any more. Until Barbara and Harvey and Batman were just figments, and there was only Bruce, and Bruce's hands, Bruce's cock, Bruce's voice.

"Wanna give it to you," present-Bruce was still saying. He was fucking Gordon so hard now Gordon was beginning to really feel it, wide and burning inside and out, despite all the oil and wet and prep-work. "I wanna give you so fucking much. I'm trying, don't know how, doing the best—I can—"

Doing the best he could with what he had, was what he meant.

It wasn't enough, Gordon thought. It wasn't ever going to be enough, because Barbara and Dent and Batman were still there. Bruce's voice was Batman's, and it wouldn't ever just be Bruce Wayne, it wouldn't ever just be all of himself. Bruce was unable to give that, and there would always be these shadows. Doubt, and lies.

But there was this, Gordon thought, and he was watching the surveillance video. This was a start, Bruce giving him this. Batman giving him enough privacy for lies of his very own. Both Bruce and Batman relinquishing this measure of control, even if they couldn't yet completely surrender.

Gordon pulled one of Bruce's arms around him. Pulled one strong hand up to his chest, hair on his chest that had always been light going gray now, pressed Bruce's hand against it and held it there while Bruce lost it from behind. "Give you the best," Bruce was saying as he came. "Give you everything."

"Take it," past-Bruce was saying. "You'll fucking take it. You'll take anything."

"Yes," Gordon said, and closed his eyes, as his own climax built, and Bruce grabbed him roughly, so certain, because this one thing, he knew how to do. "Yes," Gordon repeated. "Give it to me."

Give.


End file.
